The Shards Trilogy: Shards of Life - Shards of Loss - Shards of Love
by Searlait
Summary: There is magic in the world - perhaps there always has been. But the world is changing. The wielding of magic is changing. There are those who seek to control it. Those who seek to destroy it. And those who seek to understand it… whatever the cost.
1. Shards of Life: Prologue

**Shards Trilogy: Book 1 - Shards of Life**

_From seasons born, time of winter  
>Eternity as a sword (shard?) in a woman's hands<br>It will find all, and many from one  
>Festering and dead lands, a cankered heart<br>Draw forth from the wound and purge decay  
>Only in her death can seasons change<br>From winter is born new life, world anew _

~A.G., c. 1835, trans. from Old Norse

**Prologue**

It felt afterward as if the whole day had been awash in shadow, doom hanging like a fog, no matter how outwardly innocent events. He knew it wasn't true. But truth, in the end, was irrelevant. The emotions ruled all, the entirety of his existence, as they had for as long as he could remember. And that day, more than any other, truly showed the strength that they might wield.

He walked into town immediately after breakfast, that day. They had fish, he remembered that, and there was bread and butter and jam, and he tucked his letter into his shirt pocket so he would get nothing on it. He had rewritten it for the third time the night before, and his father said one of his ships was going to Oslo and could take it along, see that it was delivered.

"Do you need a ride in?" his father asked, but he shook his head and said no, he would walk - he liked walking, the freedom of keeping his own pace, his own schedule. He sometimes wondered what would happen if he never stopped, just kept going with the shoes on his feet and the clothes on his back, following the road wherever it might lead.

How far would he have to go to escape?

His brother was looking at him, stealing glances from beneath the curls that hung stubbornly over his eyes. His brother, he knew, did not want him to go - to town, to Oslo, to anywhere - but at nine years old, he knew that he was unhappy, but not how to prevent the loss, not how to keep his family here, where he wanted them. He was the youngest, he had known nothing else. And for now, he accepted it silently, glancing but saying nothing.

"You're sure this is what you want?" his mother asked.

It was.

"Be certain," she said - no pride or hope in her voice, but also no argument. Perhaps they had already, in some way, let him go.

"I'm certain," he said.

He saw his brother watching from the window as he set out. He waved, but his brother did not wave back.

The day was cool and overcast, but not uncomfortably so; it felt good to be out of the house, outside, late spring awash in budding trees and blooming wildflowers and the smell of turned earth in fields newly planted. He wondered if there would be anything like this in Oslo, a big city – would there be trees and flowers and fields, narrow dirt lanes and quiet sounds and all the pleasure of solitude in an hour's walk to town? He had never lived anywhere but here; had never seen anything like he imagined Oslo to be except in pictures, in books or in the journals to which his father subscribed.

He patted the pocket of his shirt, reassuring himself that the letter was still there - and, peripherally, attempting to reassure himself of the decision he had made. He had claimed he was certain. He _wanted_ to be certain. And certain or not - the further he got from home, as always, the more clear became the knowledge of the necessity of leaving. He had begun to fear that if he didn't leave soon, he would never be allowed to go at all.

Reaching the fork where the narrow path home met the wider coast road, the two merging towards the smoky blur of the town walls, he hitched a ride in the back of a wagon delivering what smelled suspiciously like crates of onions. That was alright - up until that day, it was not a smell he particularly minded.

Town was bustling, as it always was at the changing of seasons. The old medieval roads might be paved now with stone, but they were still narrow and quickly congested, wagons and carts slowing to a placid crawl of grumbling drivers and resigned horses. He paid the driver of the onion crates a few skillings for his time, then set out once more on foot, ducking down the alleyways of the oldest streets. The buildings here were looming and crumbling, ancient structures dating almost as far back as whichever of his half-mythical ancestors had decided to abandon foreign pillaging in exchange for a perhaps less adventurous, but certainly lengthier, life of farming. Now, the tiny heart of the town that had built up around his sons and grandsons was squalid and make-do, stinking of damp wood and rotting food and the effluvia of too many people crammed into rooms built for half as many. There was talk every year of tearing it all down, but his father didn't want to pay for it, and who else was going to do so?

But it wasn't his problem to solve. He was going to Oslo. He wasn't equipped to be a leader - something everyone would always make sure he understood, _had_ always made sure he understood.

He went down to the docks, which were marginally less crowded than the center of town - there wasn't a whole lot of trade in and out, this time of year, water still too rough for safe travel. The wealth of his family came from here: north and south met at these shores, where kingdom and continent negotiated and the mediator reaped the spoils. He had once come here with his father, sometimes his brother too, and as his father talked trade agreements and negotiated pay disputes, he played along the shoreline, searching for treasure: bottles and broken crates and fraying coils of rope. He watched ships laboriously making their way to port, cumbersome and heavy-bodied. He listened to sailors shouting in a hundred tongues; marveled at the accents of the captains and commanders who spoke to his father. Once, this had been a wondrous place.

His father's master of trade was in his cluttered little shed of an office, muttering over ledgers, the grunt-work of actual negotiation left to his underlings. "Oslo, eh?" He took the folded paper, ran a finger over the seal. "Sure you're ready for that, young thing like you?"

"I hope so."

"Well, your mama will miss you. They always do."

She wouldn't. It wouldn't be allowed. But he said nothing.

"I'll see to it it goes on Haraldssen's boat, alright? Should be no more than a few days. And tell your papa that the Uppsala shipment is expected before the end of the week, if he wants it expedited onward."

"I will."

"Good boy."

He left before he could ask for the letter back. He walked quickly and along the main roads this time, dodging and weaving through crowded streets, keeping his mind occupied. No rides now; he wanted to keep moving.

The wind was picking up as he turned again homewards, whipping through the trees, sending the long grasses bending across the path, lashing at his legs. The clouds were restless, boiling and rolling and darkening, and the promise of rain hung heavy in the air.

But there was something more. Not just anxiety about the letter - this was something else, something darker, and the closer he grew to home, the more oppressive it felt, a weight on his chest, settling around his lungs, his heart. He walked faster.

Then he started to run.

He reached the house breathless and terrified. The sky was black, rain beginning to fall, leaving dark, muddy splotches on the round pathway that led to the front door; he ran across the grass.

The letter. The letter, he should never have told them, he could have gone, disappeared. He shouldn't have been a coward. He had known.

He had always known.

And he had done it anyway.

_Good boy_.

Fear and rage and a manic glee - they hung heavier than the clouds around the dark house. He felt his breath hitching painfully, the weight on his lungs now a clamp. His hands fumbled and shook, struggling with the door, his arms weak, flaccid.

Inside, all was dark and silent, the pattering of rain against the window the only imperfection in the stillness. The servants would have gone away, of course - probably no explanation nor orders given, but not a single one of them would ever question it. They might not come back at all; it had happened before.

His heart was pounding; he felt lightheaded and weak, shaky, his feet too heavy. But he forced himself to search - methodical, down the halls, room by room. He had fought these feelings so often, in the past. He would do it again.

They were in the library. The blood was already congealing on the rug, hardly visible against the dark weave, the heavy shadows: the curtains had not been drawn, nor the lamps lit. They were seated next to one another, as if discussing a matter in private. Their son moving to Oslo, perhaps. His mother had been run through repeatedly, her midsection a torn, bloody mess; her head had fallen back against the couch, sightless eyes fixed on the criss-crossing beams high above. His father was slumped forward, his hands still wrapped tightly around the sword with which he had run himself through.

For a long, breathless moment, he could only stare - and in that moment, he felt nothing at all. Then it hit again, a wave of terror and grief and anger, and he stumbled backward, clutching the doorframe, his hand sliding sickeningly along it, the skin of his palm shredding against the rough wood, his knees giving out. He collapsed onto them, hissing at the pain when his torn hand found the cold floor. He threw up: fish and bread and butter and jam.

Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He stood on shaky legs. He walked back down the hall and up the stairs, clutching the banister with his uninjured hand. His head was throbbing, resisting. He ignored it.

_His brother at the window. At the breakfast table, eyes beneath that fringe of hair, morose and hopeless - and so young._

His brother's room, now - a small figure, huddled in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, face hidden. He went to him, crouched before him.

And he said, "I'm still here."


	2. Shards of Life: Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It began so innocently – a cool autumn morning, and Anna hurrying up the stairs after breakfast. She disappeared around the curve, and Elsa smiled and bid her a silent goodbye for the duration of the day, each of them to her own duties and occupations, as was the way of things. Anna's condition meant travel had been curtailed, but there was still plenty to keep her occupied at home: meeting visitors, arranging diplomatic events, reviewing correspondence. She served officially as envoy, but to Elsa, she was a loyal right hand, a protector, a pressure release – her sister, and her best friend.

And she worked hard, so hard that Elsa finally understood what others felt when they accused her of the same, of working _too_ hard. Particularly now, she wished Anna would shoulder a little bit less. But Anna shrugged her off – "I'll take time off when the baby comes, Elsa. I'm fine!" And until that day, well past her sixth month, it had seemed to be true; she'd had some nausea and dizziness early on, had complained occasionally since of headaches and back pain, but overall, her first pregnancy had been straightforward, uncomplicated. She had been afraid, at the start, and Kristoff clearly terrified – but fear had quickly given way to joyful anticipation, endless talk of names and nurseries, and a light in Anna's eyes that Elsa thought was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

And Elsa herself? She had her trepidations, though she kept them carefully to herself; mostly, she felt that this, even more than hard work as an envoy, might be the final piece Anna needed in the puzzle of her life. Her child, son or daughter, would be heir to the kingdom, after Anna herself – and the challenge of raising a future king or queen, Elsa expected her sister to rise to magnificently. Anna was nothing if not determined. And Elsa found herself very much looking forward to seeing Anna take on motherhood. Not to mention the possibility of seeing her faced with as mischievous a little troublemaker as Elsa well remembered Anna being – she was looking forward to that, too.

She took her time on the stairs, savoring these last few minutes to herself before her work began, lost in thought and only half-aware of the taps of Anna's shoes hurrying above her – until they abruptly disappeared. She stopped, looked up, her brow furrowing. There was, suddenly, a silence that felt much too deep. She bit her lip, gripped the banister in her left hand. She listened - but there was nothing.

Anna wouldn't be at the top yet.

Not a sound. No voices, no further footfalls. Nothing at all.

Elsa ran. Using the hand on the banister to haul herself up, skipping steps, her own footfalls no more than enough to push her on. She gasped for breath – exertion and fear, her head swimming. But somehow, there was enough air in her lungs for a dismayed little cry to escape when she finally caught sight of her.

Anna was hunched, one knee on the step before her, head hanging, hands fisted against her chest. She didn't look up as Elsa reached her, crouched beside her, one hand almost placing itself on Anna's back – then jerking away, as if abruptly reminded of its place.

"Anna?" Elsa kept her hand raised; she wanted to offer that comfort, battling fear and the chill that crawled beneath her fingertips. Finally, she let her palm brush tentatively against Anna's shoulder. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Anna shook her head, a little frantically. Elsa saw then the perspiration beading at her hairline, the angry red-purple patches in her cheeks. She found Elsa's forearm with one clawed hand, gripped and squeezed; her other hand was still clenched into a fist over her heart.

Elsa started to speak, but Anna again quickly shook her head. A moment later, she sucked a deep, gasping, desperate breath – her hand spasming against Elsa's sleeve - and collapsed against the stair. The fist at her chest slid down, opening to rest over the prominent swell at her middle. She was trembling violently.

"I'm fine." Her voice was hardly a whisper, her eyes shut tight. There was a whistle in her breath. "Just… went too fast."

"I'm going to send for the doctor." But Anna gripped Elsa's arm more tightly, shook her head a third time. Elsa looked over the banister, uncertain – she didn't want to leave, not if Anna needed her to stay. But she didn't know what to do, couldn't help – and of course there wasn't a single guard or servant or maid around when she needed one, when she knew the castle was crawling with staff.

"I'm… fine," Anna said again – and this time, she managed to open her eyes and let them meet Elsa's, curve her lips into a tight smile.

Lips that were tinged blue.

But her eyes were bright, and the spots of color were already fading from her cheeks, and she was breathing deeply, but almost normally. "It's alright," she said – stronger voice, the whistle gone. "Really."

Elsa shook her head, pursed her lips, but she could feel the terror dissipating. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." A genuine smile now, and she finally let go of Elsa's arm. "The midwife said it might happen – getting out of breath. I was just going too fast. But I feel fine now. Really."

"I want you to not push yourself so hard, Anna."

"Elsa." The hand back on her arm, squeezing gently now, Anna's eyes boring into hers. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I promise."

Elsa smiled, but had to let her gaze skitter away, self-conscious. "I know," she said. "But if… if you're not… you'll tell me?"

"Of course I will. Now – help me up?"

She walked Anna as far as her bedroom, leaving her to change into attire less comfortable, but more appropriate for public appearance – meaning it mostly hid her current condition. After the door closed, it was several minutes before Elsa could bring herself to walk away – she stood there before it, hands clasped as if in supplication, feeling small and weak and powerless. She couldn't protect Anna now any more than she'd ever been able to.

She walked away, and felt a traitor.

That was how it began.

And at first it seemed as if, yes, Anna had been correct: a single occurrence, overexertion, her body trying to tell her to slow down, take more care. She seemed to listen - to Elsa's surprise, and, it turned out, to Kristoff's, too.

"How'd you do it?" he asked a few days later, as Elsa walked with him back from the docks, on one of the rare days when a situation had presented itself that he could not handle on his own.

He said it with good humor, as if he expected her to share in the joke, but she was befuddled. "Do what?"

"Convince Anna to take it a little easier. I've been on her case for weeks."

That was when she realized Anna hadn't told him. She felt the fear flare again – Anna had never kept secrets, never hidden parts of herself. And if she hadn't told Kristoff about that particular incident, had there been others, kept from him and from Elsa too?

Was it Elsa's place to tell him? Anna had not specifically asked her not to – but her own silence on the matter was surely evidence enough. It felt wrong, though, uncomfortable to even consider; Elsa had long kept secrets secure and well-hidden, but they had always been her own. The closest she had come to keeping a confidence for Anna or Kristoff was when Kristoff had come to her for permission to ask for Anna's hand in marriage – and that had been a joy to keep, anticipating Anna's reaction.

What Elsa said was, "I think Anna's condition may finally be asserting itself," which made Kristoff chuckle. But the niggle of uncertainty remained. She didn't like this – but Anna was an adult, past her twenty-first birthday, and Elsa knew it was not her place to tell her how to conduct her private life, much as, at times like this, she wished that she could. Learning proper boundaries was something Elsa was beginning to believe she would never fully master, but at least her lack of expertise kept her very cognizant of risking overstepping them.

But she was busy, always busy, they all were, and there was little time to dwell on concerns not immediately present. There were days when she saw Anna only at mealtimes, or not even then, though she hated for that to happen.

How long passed? It must have been over a month – certainly, autumn was giving way to winter, trees bare and dustings of snow no longer melting away quite so quickly in the morning sun. Anna was no more than six weeks away from the midwife's estimation of the baby's arrival. This, Elsa remembered quite clearly, because Anna had grabbed her arms, gleeful, and said, "Maybe you'll share a birthday!"

"Maybe so." And she smiled, Anna's enthusiasm as warmly infectious as always. Her twenty-fifth birthday – she would be content for it to be forgotten entirely, if it meant both Anna and new baby were safe and healthy.

But it was evening of the same day, as Elsa walked from her study to the small family dining room, when that wish was dashed to pieces. She saw one of the serving boys go running past, not even pausing to acknowledge her. And she knew. For the second time, she knew.

She reached the open doors of the dining room with no memory of how she got there, breath hitching as if she must have run, eyes finding the cluster of people at the center of the room. Plates had been set at the table, platters put out – but there was another on the floor, juices and gravy soaked into the rug, splattered on the walls. Those employed to serve at meals were gawking, whispering, clutching at one another. And in their midst, on his knees, hunched forward, she saw Kristoff, heard his voice – soft and pleading.

The servants parted for Elsa like water. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, hard, focusing on the pain of fingernails against her palms to keep the cold at bay. There was a tremble in her spine, heat behind her eyes.

Anna was cradled in Kristoff's arms, as gently as he might have held their child-to-be. She looked young, peaceful – and hideously unnatural. Her lips and fingers were blue and swollen, her face once more a blotchy, angry purple, her eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. Her stockinged legs, akimbo on the rug, looked almost as swollen as her stomach. She took breaths only intermittently – sharp, swift little gasps, harsh and desperate.

Elsa felt the temperature drop. She gripped the fabric of her skirt in her hands, fighting for control. "What happened?" Her voice echoed under the high ceiling, and came back sharp and cold as ice.

Kristoff glanced at her, but turned again to Anna a moment later, murmuring to her in a voice too low for Elsa to make out – or maybe the pounding pulse in her ears masked the words. One of the older servers – bags under her eyes and gray streaking her brown hair – came to her, curtseying low and speaking to her feet. "The princess came in with Master Kristoff, your majesty. She was almost hit by Liesel – who certainly should have been paying more attention, but she's very young, she hasn't been here long, and-"

"I understand." The words came more sharply than Elsa might have intended, but she didn't have the mental wherewithal to temper her speech – not when Anna was on the floor meters away, gasping for breath and only half conscious. "Please continue."

The serving woman quickly curtseyed again. "Yes, your majesty. She – Liesel stepped in the way of the princess, and she tried to jump aside, and she… she grabbed her chest, your majesty, just like… like _this_… and she tried to grab the chair, the back of it, and Master Kristoff caught her when she fell. And Len was sent for the physician, and-"

Elsa cut her off then: "Yes, thank you." That day on the stairs – she should have insisted Anna see the doctor, that day, right then. Always, always, she made the wrong decision – and once again, someone else was left to suffer the consequences.

She could feel frost against her palms, beneath her feet. She pulled in a shaky breath – _control it_ – and knelt beside Kristoff. He was smoothing Anna's bangs back, stroking her cheek, and murmuring to her like a mantra: "Hang on, Anna. Just hang on. Help's coming. Just hang on."

Elsa bit her lip, unsure of whether she had any place here. Anna seemed oblivious to all of them, her eyes rolled back in her head, her parted lips such a deep, swollen blue they looked bruised. One hand was on the rug, her sleeve pulled up her forearm, and Elsa could see every bone in her fingers, the prominent knob at her wrist. It looked as if she had lost weight, belying the swollen appearance of her middle – but surely Elsa, or someone, would have noticed before now?

But Anna had not told Kristoff what had happened on the stairs.

And her clothes were loose, flowing, long-sleeved, hiding her growing stomach – but also any other physical changes, like her swollen legs, painfully atrophied wrists. How long had she been hiding from them?

The cold Elsa felt in her chest was nothing to do with magic. She wanted Anna fully conscious so she could slap her. She wanted to take Anna in her arms and rock her and never let go. She wanted the horrible, harsh gasps to cease struggling from her sister's throat.

She didn't speak, said not a word of comfort or concern; she knelt beside her sister and her sister's husband, a pale, cold, cowardly shadow. There was a scrim of frost beneath her knees – no more.

Anna stiffened and shuddered and moaned – just one time. Then, once more, there was only the gasp of her infrequent breaths, the whisper of the servants – and the stillness. Kristoff had gone silent, though his hand still stroked rhythmically against her hair. When Elsa spared him a glance, his eyes were shut tight, his face a rictus of pain. For all his size, he looked now like a frightened child.

Elsa gathered her meager courage, and placed a tentative hand on his upper arm. He opened his eyes; they met hers – she was surprised by the gratitude she saw there. But he said nothing, and she had nothing to say.

It couldn't have been more than a quarter hour before Len returned, panting, with Dr. Handrigsen, but that dark quarter hour might have been a slice of eternity; Elsa allowed herself a moment of relief and hope, to relinquish Anna to his expert care. She stood and stepped back, out of the way, watching the doctor crouch in her place, speaking softly to Kristoff.

"Your majesty?" A soft, respectful voice, but nonetheless unexpected, and Elsa started, hunching her shoulders before turning to find the same careworn serving woman who had spoken to her earlier. The woman's dark eyes were soft and concerned, and Elsa felt an abrupt, painful reminiscence of her mother. "Would it be better if we… we gave you some privacy?"

A gentle rebuke, perhaps not even intended as one, but Elsa understood immediately. She straightened, composed her expression, turned to face the gathered crowd of servants: "Your help is appreciated." And she smiled to show she spoke the truth. "But right now the best thing you can do for me – for us – is return to your duties… elsewhere. Thank you – and especially you, Len – for your concern for my sister. You are dismissed."

By the time the dining room had emptied, the doors shut tight behind them, Dr. Handrigsen had Anna on her back on the floor, prone, while he examined her face with long, careful fingers. He opened her eyes, leaned over to look closely, rubbed a fingertip along her lips, her gums. Anna tried to turn her head away, making noise that might have been feeble attempts at protestation – the first evidence of conscious awareness Elsa had seen since she got here.

She remained where she was – distanced from them, uncertain, arms crossed to hide her hands, every ounce of concentration focused on control. The pressure within was almost painful. She ignored it.

Kristoff was still on the floor, staying out of the way as much as his size would allow, Anna's tiny hand enfolded in both of his. He was wearing the clothes of a prosperous professional, right down to the tuck of his tie and the polish of his boots, but there were times, like now, when Elsa was reminded of the wildness in him, the survivor who still lurked beneath the careful facade of prince consort and master of trade. His eyes were fierce and dark, his mouth set, as if sheer force of will would be enough to see this through.

Elsa crossed her arms more tightly against her chest.

Dr. Handrigsen was silent, the only sound Anna's harsh breath, the muted rustle of his clothes as he examined her. He looked at her bony hands and wrists, her swollen legs, removing her shoes to examine her feet. They, too, were painfully swollen – and Elsa had to momentarily close her eyes, take several deep, calming breaths. _Anna_.

When she opened her eyes, Dr. Handrigsen was rummaging through his case, finally removing a long wooden tube. He placed his ear against it, put it to Anna's chest, to the swell of her stomach. Anna murmured again then, tossed her head, but quieted when Kristoff smoothed her hair back and spoke soft words of comfort.

"Erratic heartbeat," the doctor finally said, standing once more, the wooden tube tucked under his arm. "And likely fluids in her chest, judging by her difficulty breathing. A weak heart. Has she…" His eyes found Elsa, but quickly turned aside. "Has she ever had problems such as these in the past?"

Elsa felt her own breath catch, her own heart setting up a furious beat in her chest. She felt it – the cold in the air, spreading outwards, radiating in frost and chill. She spread her hands against her ribs, pushing, willing pain, willing what she deserved.

Erratic heartbeat.

Blue lips, gasping for breath, clutching her chest.

Her heart. Her _heart_.

"Your majesty?"

Dr. Handrigsen's gentle voice – and Elsa's eyes snapped to find him, eyes that felt wide and wet and unfocused. She knew what he saw: the animal. The monster.

But his own eyes were kind, his expression concerned. "Princess Anna's condition is exacerbating what may be… an otherwise relatively minor problem, though one that I suspect will be lifelong. If we weren't so far along, I might suggest a natural means of termination, but-"

"No." Barely a whisper – but adamant, angry. And Anna was trying to push herself up, too weak to even lift her head but struggling stubbornly nonetheless. Kristoff was there in an instant, supporting her, helping her sit. Dr. Handrigsen strode back, crouched again, close.

Elsa did not – could not – move.

"I won't," Anna whispered. She had her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, most of her weight clearly supported on Kristoff. "No."

Dr. Handrigsen held up a hand, a gesture requesting both silence and calm. "It's too late regardless, your highness."

"Good."

"But I still have concerns it might occur spontaneously, as your body attempts to protect itself." He had, Elsa thought, some of the kindest eyes she had ever seen – she had never noticed in her younger years, so afraid of his very presence. She was different, now. Perhaps he was too.

Anna shuddered, closed her eyes, leaned back in Kristoff's arms. Her face was still blotchy, her breath more regular but still rough, and Elsa noticed now the deep hollows and prominent tendons on her neck. How had she seen none of this until now?

Because she let everything else come first. Because she was selfish, did not make time for any but herself. Selfish and greedy and imperceptive.

Dr. Handrigsen was talking again: the necessity of Anna remaining calm, taking everything slowly, not subjecting herself to stress. Talking and talking and talking, and Anna focused, serious, deadly serious, staring and nodding and silent save for the wheeze in her throat.

Elsa felt her mind drifting, unmoored, set loose from the world around her - until she heard, once more, the words she had come to hate so strongly: "Your majesty?"

She looked at him, startled. "Yes?"

"I wonder if I might… might speak to you in the corridor for a moment?"

"Of course." She followed, feeling like a recalcitrant child in dread of coming punishment. Whatever she got, she had no doubt it would be deserved. She carefully pulled the door closed behind them – taking perhaps just a little bit longer than necessary.

Then she tried to steel herself for the inevitable. "You think she'll lose the baby."

Dr. Handrigsen hesitated. "It's a possibility, though if it were likely, I think it would have happened earlier. I fear, truthfully, that she will not."

Elsa felt her expression sharpen. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I fear…" He took a deep breath, and his eyes met hers. "I find it very unlikely, considering what I see of her today, that she will survive the delivery. We can only hope at this point that we might save the baby." He looked away. "I'm sorry, your majesty."

Ice on the walls, ice under feet, ice in the tattered remnants of her soul. Elsa recoiled, retreated inside herself – her eyes squeezed shut, hands fisted desperately, wanting more than anything, _anything_, to escape his words, buried now in her psyche like hooks. But they were hers now - forever. Guilt and shame and anger, over her in a rush, sending her own heart pounding.

If she could have ripped the damn thing still beating from her chest and given it to Anna, she would have, without a moment's hesitation. Her fault – everything, all of it, because she was weak and incapable of controlling herself. Anna lauded her control now, but it didn't matter: the damage had been done.

The damage had already been done.

And Anna – beautiful, kind, warmhearted Anna – once more suffered the consequences.

"Thank you," Elsa heard herself say – voice strained and low. "I… I need… I'm afraid I need to go."

Walking away without a backward glance. Head held high, back straight, steps firm, eyes forward. She was the queen. Because if she was the queen, she no longer had to be Elsa.

* * *

><p>It began innocently, but the aftermath was torrid and ugly. Anna's difficulties now known – words spread through the servants, of course, like wildfire – they seemed suddenly ever-present, and painfully obvious. She grew short of breath walking down the hallways; going up stairs required stopping to sit and rest at every landing. Her face was permanently flushed, her eyes hollow and rimmed purple-black.<p>

"She's not sleeping well," Kristoff confessed to Elsa. "She says she can't breathe if she's lying flat."

But Anna insisted, endlessly and stubbornly, that she was fine – even when it was painfully clear to everyone around her that she was not. She refused to accept help getting around, to allow things to be brought to her rather than her going to them. She did lessen her workload – thankfully, before Elsa had to do it for her – and slow down, but it wasn't enough.

It was obvious to all who saw her that it wasn't enough.

Elsa resisted the urge to take her guilt into hiding. If these were the last weeks she would have with Anna, she wouldn't allow herself to go unless Anna asked her. It seemed the very least she could – should – do. She didn't want to hover – but if Anna needed her, she would be there.

But there was still work to do, endless work to do, and sometimes, it was almost engrossing enough to lift the weight of guilt from her shoulders for a few precious, undeserved hours. It was in the midst of such that the letter arrived – one more nondescript envelope, letter opener making quick work of the seal, Elsa anticipating no more than perhaps another of the blessed pieces of correspondence that did not require immediate response. She glanced at a few lines, prepared to stick it in one of the stacks on the desk before her – then stopped, eyes widening, and quickly went back to the start.

_To Her Majesty, the Royal Highness Queen Elsa of Arendelle -_

_I am writing you due to a rather unfortunate incident that has occurred of late in a village in the north of our principality. It is an incident that, due to the singular occurrence in your kingdom of several years ago, I hope you might be able to assist us with, and perhaps advise us on further handling thereof._

_The village in question was, not a month past, utterly decimated, scores injured, six killed, and the epicenter at which it occurred, a cottage near the green, was the home of one Bjorn Olavsson, a boy of twelve, accused now of murder and rampant destruction of property. It appears, moreover, that this boy is known in the village as a possessor of abilities similar to your own. He is to stand trial here, in Leisalla, at the turn of the month of December._

_I am writing to you, though I know it is your preference to have your sister travel in your stead, because of your very personal experience in matters such as these. The expertise and insights you might bring could mean the boy's life, or his death. As you know, the distrust and prejudice many feel towards magic users, whether trolls or not, remains high, and I fear that without support such as yours, a boy's life will be forfeit due to who he is, rather than to any establishment of guilt._

_As travel is difficult so late in the year, and so little time remains before his fate is decided, I look forward to your swift response._

_I am, always, your humble servant,_

_Prince Knut, His Royal Highness of Leisalla_

* * *

><p>Anna squinted at the heavy parchment even longer than Elsa had. "Rather presumptuous, isn't he?" she finally asked, passing the letter back across the table.<p>

"He's trying to manipulate me."

They were at dinner, just the two of them, Kristoff handling a late arrival of goods at the docks. But as had so often been the case lately, Anna merely stirred her food around on her plate, and Elsa watched and found herself without much appetite, either.

"Was his son the one you were supposed to marry?" Anna asked.

Elsa folded the letter, tucked it away, shook her head. "It was him I was supposed to marry. His father passed just a few months after… after the accident." One of their many euphemisms for the day that had ultimately made her queen.

Anna nodded, rather absently. Then she looked up, letting her eyes meet Elsa's, firm. "But you're going, aren't you?" It didn't even truly sound like a question.

"Of course not."

To Elsa's surprise, Anna's brow drew down, and her lips thinned in clear irritation. "What do you mean, _of course not?_"

"I mean I'm not going."

Anna sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. "Why not?"

"I'm not leaving you like this. Particularly not to be gawked at like a freak at a carnival. I…" She turned her head, unable to hold Anna's gaze. "I need to be with you."

"But-"

"No buts, Anna. I can't. Not right now."

"Can I just say one thing? Please?"

Elsa wanted to say no – deeply, desperately, she wanted to say no. Whatever Anna was about to tell her, it was going to hurt. And she already hurt – so much and so deeply.

She closed her eyes and nodded her head.

"Did you know there were others?" Anna asked. "Others with powers?"

"I…" Elsa opened her eyes, let them meet Anna's. Over three years – and still, there were secrets between them, secrets she didn't even remember existed until the truth finally came out. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "Yes. I knew. And Father did, too."

"Oh, yeah. All those books and things."

Elsa nodded.

"So there are others – how many?"

"I don't know. Not a lot."

"And you're the one most people know about, right?"

"I… I guess." The reason for that not something she wanted to dwell upon.

Anna leaned across the table, as much as her swollen middle would allow. "Is there anyone else who could go? Anyone who has magic, _and_ this prince knows of him, _and_ he's willing to go speak on behalf of this boy, _and_ he could make it in time? Elsa if… if you weren't… if you hadn't…"

"If I weren't a queen," Elsa said – unable to purge fully the bitterness from her voice.

But Anna plowed on, determined now: "It could have been you, Elsa. I know how scared you were then. I heard you, I saw you. Not the powers, but I knew you were afraid."

"Anna…" But she had no other words, only the desperate plea in her voice, her eyes.

"You may be all he's got."

"But if you…"

Anna found her eyes again, so close now Elsa could see every freckle on her flushed cheeks, every wispy hair escaped from the coil at the back of her neck. "If I don't make it through this, I'll die knowing my sister Elsa is the bravest, most beautiful person I have ever known."

* * *

><p><em>To His Royal Highness Prince Knut of Leisalla -<em>

_I do not know that this letter will reach you before I do. I am accepting your request, and shall depart Arendelle as soon as necessary affairs have been settled…_


	3. Shards of Life: Chapter 2

_Author's note: All of the chapters from Anna's POV occur in the time between the end of _Frozen - A Dark Retelling_ and Elsa's leaving for Leisalla. _

**Chapter 2**

"That was _so fun._" Collapsing in the nearest chair, still trying to catch her breath, Anna, despite her exhaustion, still couldn't hide a delighted grin. "I'm glad you're back, Elsa."

Elsa's expression - eyes flitting away, cheeks flushing, mouth curling into a self-conscious smile - seemed to make it clear she knew Anna was talking about more than her physical return.

"I think I was finally getting the hang of it, too!"

"We can practice."

And Anna could feel the muscles in her cheeks stretch and pull, the joy of it in her heart and her soul and her grin. Long shadows filled the sitting room - day fading, lamps not yet lit - but Anna was going to draw this time together on for as long as she could. Elsa was here, here and _happy_, and the world felt set to rights.

Except - she searched the room, found him hovering around the door, hands in his pockets, closely examining the rug under his feet. "You can come in, you know."

Kristoff's eyes found hers, then flickered to Elsa. "I really should probably get going, actually. It's a long way home. I mean - if your majesty gives permission?"

"_Your majesty?_" Anna burst out laughing. "How come I'm Anna and she's _your majesty?_"

But it was Elsa who answered, voice smooth and even: "Just one of life's little mysteries." She rose and approached Kristoff - and bowed to him, deep and respectful, before rising to offer him a warm smile. "So you're my new ice master. I understand I have you to thank for my sister's life. I am in your debt."

Kristoff looked surprised, but shook his head. "She took care of herself. The whole time. Uh, your majesty."

"Much as I enjoy Anna's consternation, let's try Elsa, okay?" She stepped back, held an arm out. "Please stay. I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving so late."

"We have plenty of rooms," Anna added.

"But Sven-"

"_And _we have stables."

Elsa caught her eye, gave her a look of pleased conspiracy, an unspoken mission accomplished, and it was all Anna could do to keep still, to not wriggle with sheer, overwhelming delight. The feeling was only made worse when Kristoff took a deep, visible breath - and finally fully entered the room. He let himself perch precariously on the edge of a chair, sitting hunched forward, large and uncomfortable.

Anna ducked her head to hide her smile. After all the time he had spent huffing and sighing and rolling his eyes at her, up in the mountains, turnabout seemed like fair play. Besides, he needed to get used to this - to the castle, and to Elsa. Because she thought maybe he would like to continue spending time with her, and she with him, and those things were the center of her world, and she supposed they always would be.

He might still be uncomfortable with both - the castle and Elsa - but he was here, making an effort. He had been out on the ice with them all afternoon. He had accepted Elsa's offer of a new position, Anna's accompanying offer of a new sled.

He had kissed her.

The kiss - she still wasn't sure what to make of that. Her first kiss, and it had been wonderful, of course it had, and she still felt a funny little fluttery warmth in her stomach thinking about it. But she hadn't expected it - not with Kristoff. She'd only known him for a couple of weeks, and she had yet to feel she understood him.

Then again, if she considered what had happened last time she thought she understood someone, maybe being uncertain was for the best. And she was equally uncertain of Elsa, and she'd known - thought she'd known - Elsa her whole life. Inscrutable might be more common than she would have guessed.

"Tell me about yourself," Elsa said - a valiant attempt at conversation, and one that forced Anna to hide another grin at the vaguely panicked look that came over Kristoff's face.

"Uh, well…" He ran a hand over the back of his head and looked to the walls, the window, the floor, Anna - anywhere, clearly, but at Elsa. "There's… really not much to tell. I harvest and sell ice. That's pretty much it."

"No, it isn't," Anna said - because it wasn't, and he was selling himself short, and she wouldn't allow it. She turned to her sister: "Elsa, he knows _everything_ about the mountains, and ways through the forest, and finding food and safe places to sleep, and-"

"Anna…"

But she talked over him: "And Elsa, he lived with the men of the mountains! The _trolls!_"

At that, Elsa started visibly, turning wide eyes back to Kristoff "Do you… you have…" She looked frightened - and Anna felt the subtle shift in temperature, something she never would have noticed, before. Elsa clearly noticed as well; she grimaced and fisted her hands in her lap.

"I'm not one of them," Kristoff said quickly. "They just… took me in. When I was younger."

"Ah," Elsa said - and no more.

The silence that fell was more than little bit awkward. Anna waited as long as she could - looking from Elsa, who was staring fixedly at nothing, to Kristoff, who appeared to be memorizing the patterns in the wallpaper. She allowed herself an internal sigh.

This was clearly not going to be a simple task.

"Everyone seemed to have a lot of fun today," she said. "Even Kristoff. Didn't you?"

He shrugged. "It was alright."

Her next sigh was external, but she pressed on. "So, uh… what are we doing tomorrow?"

"Working," Elsa said, just as Kristoff said, "Back to work."

And Anna was left - for once in her life - speechless. Just like that - the adventure was over, everything went back to the way it had always been?

Except it wouldn't be. It _couldn't_ be. The gates were open, Elsa had promised they would stay open. But all those days - piling up again before her, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. There had been so much to anticipate - the coronation, the parties, the people - and then everything that came after, terror and pain but also excitement, exhilaration, freedom such as she had never known. What was she supposed to do now, after everything had come, once more, full circle, back to the castle, back to everyday life?

Of course it had all been temporary - that shouldn't come as a surprise. But the spoken reality of it: it still hit like another blow to her heart.

Nonetheless, she attempted a smile. "Of course. I should have thought."

But the smile must have shown false - Elsa's brow creased. "But we can…" She hesitated, took a deep breath. "We can… meet for dinner? If you'd like."

There was no way Anna could temper her response - she felt her eyes widen, her lips stretch into a grin. "Yes! Of course. That would be great!" She looked back to the discomfited figure now staring vaguely at the ceiling. "You'll come too, won't you? Dinner here, tomorrow?" Back to Elsa: "I mean, sorry, is that alright?"

Elsa's smile certainly appeared genuine; she brought up a hand to hide it, then nodded.

Back to Kristoff: "You'll come, right? Please?"

"Uh… I guess. If I'm back."

"From where?"

"I… I usually help. With the harvesting."

"Harvesting?"

"Ice. I harvest ice."

"Oh." Harvesting - she had thought it was a word for plants. And while she had been vaguely aware that Kristoff's profession involved ice, and his sled, she had given it little thought beyond that point, nor had she thought to ask. She had kissed him. He had seen her safely back to Arendelle. She had wrested from him the skeletal outline of his life - his parents, his sister, the men of the mountains.

But who was he? What was his favorite food, his favorite thing to do on a day off; where did he live?

The insecurity planted, she found herself dwelling on thoughts such as these, as the days passed and long hours alone returned. Kristoff did not visit as often as she might have hoped he would - and her mind drifted, perhaps inevitably, back to Hans. It wasn't the same, of _course_ it wasn't the same, but she noticed, suddenly, anything that hinted at secrets, half-truths.

But the hardest blow, the darkest secret, came - unexpectedly and unannounced - from Elsa.

Anna was in her room, and the day had been a pleasant one - the weather warm and breezy, and though no one had been available to accompany her, she had gone out for a ride along the coast road, and had fun all by herself. She had spurred her horse to a gallop, leaving the stone road for the rocky headland along the fjord, the wind whipping her braids against her shoulders and her skirt around her legs. In the afternoon, she had gone into the city - now accompanied by a guard, at Elsa's gentle request - and explored anew streets that were finally beginning to seem familiar, manageable. She went to a shop that sold knives, and one that sold luggage for travelers, and one that sold only hats. She bought a snack from a cafe, and the kind proprietress gave her a free cup of tea.

It had been a very pleasant day, indeed.

She was sitting before her vanity, dressed for bed and trying to patiently comb the snarls from her unplaited hair, rather than jerking them, when the single, soft knock came at her door, and Elsa's hesitant voice: "Anna?"

"You can come in." Of course she could.

But Elsa said, "Thank you," as she carefully closed the door behind her. She kept her hand pressed to it for a long moment, her back turned.

Anna looked out of the corner of her eye, still fighting - now blindly - with her hair. "Is everything alright?"

Elsa turned, managed a smile. "Fine. Everything is fine. I just.. wanted to talk to you."

"Sure, I'd-" But the brush snagged hard against a knot, fire rippled across her scalp, and her pleased acceptance was swallowed by a hiss of pain. Before she could stop herself, she threw the brush - hard - and clamped her hands to the throbbing place on her head, closing her eyes.

She heard Elsa's footsteps; a pause, a soft clatter, then a sigh. "You always did have sensitive scalp," she said. "Now - scoot over?"

Elsa sat beside her and - after a momentary hesitation - began to work the brush through her hair, gentle and patient; long, slow strokes. Anna closed her eyes again, resisting the urge to hum with pleasure. Once, Gerda had brushed her hair, her mother when she could spare the time - but how many years had it been? Her mother had been so patient, teasing out the tangles, and Elsa's hands now felt like a beautiful memory.

The same hands she had kept so long encased.

Her fingers were cool against Anna's scalp, but not cold. And Anna knew there was no danger in them. She was safe, and Elsa was here.

Anna let the calm, easy contentment wash over her.

"What were you _doing_ today?" Elsa asked after a short time, gentle humor in her tone.

"Riding. It was windy."

Elsa _tsk_ed, but kept at her task, her fingers now sliding through after the brush, combing and smoothing. "Where did you go?"

"Along the coast. Oh, you should come next time! You can smell the salt and watch the gulls flying and there were rabbits, big fat ones, and-" And she was off, trying to remember every detail of the day, and Elsa nodded and smiled and brushed, endlessly patient.

But as her words finally ran out, so did the knots in her hair - and Elsa put the brush on the vanity countertop and left Anna's side, retreating to one of the stiff-backed chairs against the wall. Anna was glad she stayed - but she didn't know how to cover her disappointment at the move.

"When is Kristoff supposed to visit again?" Elsa asked - as if nothing had changed.

Anna shrugged. "Late summer's busy, he says."

"And he feels obligated to help with the harvesting." It was more a statement than a question.

"I guess so."

Elsa smiled. "We'll work on finding more he can do around here."

And Anna felt something in her heart swell and lift, warm and buoyant. She grinned at her sister, and though Elsa's smile was tight, controlled - it was there. This was her blessing.

And how Anna loved her for it.

A lovely end to a lovely day - but then Elsa said, "Has he taken you to see the… the Tsandskiyi?"

"The what?"

"The, uh… the… the trolls?"

"Oh - yes. We went… after we left… uh… left your palace. On the North Mountain."

"Did he say… why?"

"He thought they could help. After. He said he'd seen them do it before."

As when the trolls had been mentioned in her presence before, at that first formal meeting with Kristoff, Elsa's expression sharpened, and the air temperature dropped noticeably.

"What's wrong?"

But Elsa shook her head - stiff, abrupt movement. "Nothing."

"Do you… not want me to go see the… the… what did you call them?"

"Tsandskiyi. It's their word for themselves."

"_Why_ do you know that?"

Elsa smiled, but it looked suspiciously forced. "I've come across it in books, here and there over the years."

"That doesn't answer the question though." Anna had learned the hard way not to push too far - but Elsa had come to her, this time. And Anna wouldn't allow her to let unnecessary secrets fester and rot again. "Is there some reason why Kristoff shouldn't take me to see them?"

But what came to mind, unbidden, was the choice they had forced him to make, and the haunted look in his eyes after it was made. He had chosen her - but surely Elsa couldn't know that? It was likely neither Anna nor Kristoff would ever see the men of the mountains - the Tsandskiyi - ever again.

But Elsa once more shook her head. "No, it's not that. I just wondered if he told you… if he told you _who_ he saw with them before."

"No," Anna said - but almost immediately, another thought occurred: "Wait - do you think it might be someone else with magic?"

"No." A long silence - and Anna could see that Elsa's hands were shaking, even as she clasped and twined them together. Once more, the temperature in the room began to drop. Elsa closed her eyes, and Anna saw her swallow hard. "It… it wasn't someone else with magic." Her voice trembled, low.

Anna went to her - without hesitation, crouched before her. Elsa closed her eyes and shied away, hunching as though trying to close in on herself.

"You can tell me," Anna said softly. "It's alright. Whatever it is. I promise."

"It's not." Elsa opened her eyes, but they were unfocused, distant. She bit down - hard - on her lower lip. "But I have to tell you anyway. I… someone should have told you a long time ago."

"Told me _what_, though?"

"The person Kristoff saw with the Tsandskiyi, Anna, I… I think it was… I think it was you."

And now it was Elsa's turn to tell a story, sparing no details, Anna still as stone before her. Except when - as Elsa spoke haltingly of the castle being closed off, the servants going, things Anna actually distantly remembered - she reached out and put her hand over Elsa's.

Elsa instantly jerked back and trembled, pulling her arms up at an angle, hands fisted. A radiating spray of ice spread up the wall around the back of her chair, like a halo in the ancient art in the chapel. She cringed, trapped and terrified, eyes squeezed shut.

Anna retreated - not far, but away. She chewed her lip, uncertain of so much - Elsa herself, and all the things Elsa had just told her. She watched the ice crawling along the wallpaper, slow and inexorable: long, thin fingers. Elsa's breath was harsh.

"Thank you," Anna finally said - hardly louder than a whisper.

Elsa's eyes came open, wide and scared, owlish, deep shadows across them. She said nothing. Her hands were still shaking. There was frost on the floorboards now too, snow drifting lazily in the air.

"It's alright," Anna said. "I told you it would be. I just need… a little time to think about it. All of it.. It's a lot. To think about, I mean."

Elsa just stared - then gave a tentative nod. "Of course."

"But I'm glad you told me. Really. I am."

"I'm sorry, Anna."

"You told me now. That's all that matters."

And she believed she was telling the truth. But she couldn't stop thinking about it - or understand why doing so left her feeling so off-kilter, uncertain. She wanted to be angry: at her parents, at Elsa, at Kristoff; at everyone who had decided they knew better than silly, flighty Anna, Anna who could handle nothing but herself, her own problems, and even those just barely. Best not to burden her with anything more.

She _wanted_ to be angry. But instead, she just felt empty.

Sitting with Kristoff in the courtyard a few days later, her bare feet dangling in the pond, she said, "Elsa told me about the first time with the men of the mountain."

She hadn't brought them up with him, after he had made his choice, fearing it would hurt him. But she had to talk to _someone_, and Elsa, she feared, was in danger of going into a full emotional retreat once more, burdened with guilt that should never have been hers at all. And besides that, some bitter little part of her _wanted_ him to know that she knew.

She looked at him. He looked at the stem of grass he was rolling between his fingers. "I wasn't sure," he said, "if you knew. Not at first - and then, I don't know, I guess there was just never a good time. None of my business, anyway."

Once more, she wished for anger, hot and cleansing. Once more, it would not come.

"Everybody thinks I can't do anything." She kicked at the water, sending out ripples. "Can't handle it. Incompetent Anna, good for nothing."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. For fourteen years. Stuck here, no explanation, no answers, no reasons. _Nothing_. My whole _life._"

"Anna, that's not-"

"Yes, it _is!_" No anger, but something had her now; not hot, but cold and indignant and insistent. She got to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. "I lost _everything!_ Do you understand that? Does _anyone?_ My parents and my sister and my freedom and my memories - they took my memories. They took my _life!_" Tears broke free, running down her cheeks, and she turned away from him. "They took _everything._" Strength gone, her voice low and thick. "How _dare_ anyone presume to take anything else?"

"No one is-"

"Yes, you _are_! Every time you think I can't handle it, you're taking something else away."

"Anna, c'mon. I _know_ you can handle anything. I've seen you do it."

She felt herself deflate - just a bit. "I'm just… I'm so _tired_ of it."

"What?"

She turned back to him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve; he was still cross-legged on the grass, eyes on hers soft and sad. "I'm tired of waiting for the next time."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Silent - but his eyes never left hers. Slowly, so slowly, she felt the tension inside her begin to dissipate.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He smiled, shook his head. "There's no reason to be." And he stood, came close enough to take her hands in his. She was looking up at him, now - the world reverted to rights. "But Anna - you _can_ handle anything. I know that. And I think probably your sister does, too."

She nodded, giving ground. "No more secrets? I mean - not ones about me?"

"I'll do my best."

She took it.

* * *

><p>Strange, uncertain days - Anna felt untethered, relishing the world as it had opened up for her, fearful of the hidden dangers she now knew it might contain. But most days were good, too.<p>

Most days were good.


	4. Shards of Life: Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

This late in the year, travel over the mountains was both easier and safer than travel by sea – for which Elsa was grateful. Anna frequently made journeys by ship, but Elsa did not know that she would ever be brave enough to do so. She appreciated the gentle pace of the carriage, particularly when they added runners to its base, and the frigid air high above civilization – it almost gave her enough time to gather her thoughts, to make some sense of them.

She was almost a quarter century old, and had never traveled outside Arendelle's borders. She could not help but find some wonder in first crossing into a land not her own, though nothing conspicuous marked the change. But she could feel it, somehow – that this was a place no longer her own, the landscape an alien one. It looked like home, but it was not.

The journey, slowed by several heavy snowfalls, took the better part of a week. She kept the window open, wishing that she had Anna's freedom to ride in a sled open to the world; she was fascinated in spite of herself, in spite of the guilt that came from allowing it. She had no right to joy - she should have stayed behind with Anna. Someone could have gone in her place.

Except - who? Who knew as much about magic - either personal or abstract - and would be willing to risk a winter's trek to Leisalla? Anna was right - there was no one else who could go. She had an advantage even over other magic users: she could have walked to Leisalla, in no danger from exposure to winter's reign.

Of all the accounts she had read of magic wielders, none had powers like hers – nor did any she'd come across seem to share identical powers with anyone else. Of the handful of her own generation who had survived to adulthood, each appeared unique in manifestation. There were so few, perhaps that wasn't strange – but that still begged the question: where did any of them come from?

Elsa didn't know, though she was familiar with many of the theories: a plague, a Tsandskiyi curse, a prophecy fulfillment heralding the end of the world. She knew theories – and knew there was nothing to support any of them except philosophy and wild speculation. But those were more than enough to convince some – many? - people.

Her father, she had discovered after his death, had obsessively attempted to find answers to the riddle, to understand his daughter and those like her. She didn't know when he had begun to seek out books and pamphlets and journals on magic, but the oldest correspondence was dated from around the time of Anna's birth.

Was it telling? Was it because he feared another child would be born with powers? Or because he feared the damage that might be done to her by the child he already had?

She would never know. But she had inherited his collection – and something of his obsession. Between 18 and 21 – along with learning the horrid business of running a kingdom – she had read through everything: the books, papers, articles, letters. Alone in her room at night, boxes dragged down corridors after everyone else was long asleep, she pored over them by candlelight, for as long as her grainy eyes would allow.

And she had tentatively attempted to make some sense of it, writing notes and ideas, even requesting some additional books and articles be ordered. She remembered well the nervous little thrill she had felt, when the first paper-wrapped parcel had appeared on her desk.

But she also knew – all those advising her made very sure she knew – how dangerous it would be to let it consume her, as it had her father. He had spent vast amounts of money while the kingdom was left to flounder, immediate problems ignored as he carried on his Quixotic quest. Elsa, her advisors made clear, would not be allowed to continue along the same path. And Elsa, ever the good girl, followed unspoken orders. But while her days were spent in obedience, the nights were her own.

She knew about the prophecy, of course – as everyone did.

_Only in her death can seasons change._

She knew. But she still felt powerless before it – and before her father's desperate attempts to understand, endless notes and letters and suppositions. She knew why. In every word, she could read his fear for her: that the same thing might happen to her that was now happening to a boy in Leisalla – a boy without the protection of a crown.

Anna had been right – every word she said. But that didn't assuage the guilt, because Elsa knew perfectly well there would have been nothing to be guilty about if not for her earlier, mortal mistakes. She would go to Leisalla – but she would stay no longer than was absolutely necessary.

Then, she would go home – home to Anna. And hope that, against all odds, she might make it in time.

Thoughts that swirled like whirlpools in her mind, as she stared out the window at the endless white snow, so high above her secure little world.

Finally, though, mountain gave way to hill, hill to field, flattening, snow no more than a dusting at either side of the narrow road. The fields were brown and bare, but she knew how fertile they were – Arendelle sent timber and furs in exchange for rye and barley from Leisalla. And had things worked out as her parents had planned, the two lands might have become one, and Elsa queen of both.

She knew Knut only through reputation, despite the closeness of his principality to Arendelle – she had heard he enjoyed travel, but to more exotic destinations, apparently, than a neighboring kingdom. She had vague memories of a Leisallan diplomat representing the royal family at her coronation, at Anna's wedding.

She knew Leisalla was a good, fair trade partner; she knew her parents had been willing to arrange a marriage for her here, when they had turned down offers from more powerful lands, including the Southern Isles. But she knew very little else, and there had been no time for preparatory research. She was going in blind – which did nothing to make her feel more comfortable.

The land, initially, appeared peaceful, ready for winter – few people out, even fewer doing anything but hurrying back to interiors. The scattered homes were battened down, windows shuttered and smoke drifting from chimneys, sheep in pens huddled close for warmth. Scattered farmsteads gave way to hamlets, hamlets to villages – and finally, in the distance, Elsa could see the walls of Solandheim, the capitol city of the principality, and the spires and peaks of roofs within. She tried to occupy herself with watching details grow clear – tiles, a clock in its tower – to keep her mind from sinking too deeply into anxiety, but she was in the end only somewhat successful. She kept her hands folded tightly on her lap. Cold nibbled from within.

Near the walls – close enough she could see the fit of the stone – a voice called them to halt. She thought little of it – until her own driver's voice rose in protest, and a moment later the hard face of a soldier appeared at her open window. Elsa jerked back and gasped, ice spreading beneath her palms.

The soldier stepped back, but his expression did not soften, and he held a crossbow loaded and at the ready. Elsa felt her heart beat faster, her breath quicken. But she quickly straightened, composed her own expression, and – focusing her concentration – dissipated the ice. The last calmed her, just a bit.

"What do you want?" she asked – the voice of the queen.

The soldier's eyes narrowed. "Could ask you the same. What's your business in the city?"

"I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle. I am here at the invitation of Prince Knut."

The soldier stared at her for a moment longer – just long enough to give the impression that he felt he retained the upper hand, whatever her status. But her eyes never left his: two could play at this game.

He turned and shouted to the south: "Open the gate!"

Elsa imagined she could still feel his eyes on her long after they had passed from sight. She closed the window, but left the curtains open, unable to bring herself to block out this new place completely. They did not know her – she had never hidden behind a closed door here. She wouldn't let the first person she saw in Leisalla drive her back to that.

The city of Solandheim was modern and spacious, roads wide and buildings of stone and brick, tall and proud – but there seemed to be few people out for mid-afternoon, and those that Elsa saw scurried away, quickly melted into alleys and doorframes. Once, she thought she heard voices – many of them – raised in raucous cheer, but she saw nothing and the sound was distant enough she thought she might be imagining the number involved.

She sat back against the seat, and tried to tell herself that she would have answers soon enough. There was no reason to be concerned – it was winter, it was cold, of course no one was going to linger out of doors. The voices raised – men in a public house, or perhaps it was a holiday here.

No reason at all to be concerned.

Until she heard a surprised shout from the driver, felt the carriage lurch – and suddenly they were moving quickly, and there were people, people everywhere, and their cries were not in revelry. They were close enough she could have reached out and touched them, and she found herself remembering the people of Arendelle, the night of her coronation, how they had come closer and closer, faceless phantoms, demonic and gobbling and grabbing. Elsa clenched her hands at her knees, squeezed her eyes shut tight, tried to force herself to breathe. The wagon lurched again, a scream from one of the horses, and she could feel ice creeping once more…

…And there were more screams, human now, and shouts of orders, and the pounding hoofbeats of war horses on cobblestone, snorts and heavier noises, metal against flesh, screams now of pain.

"Inside! Hurry, inside!" The order close, and the carriage jerked ahead, and Elsa opened her eyes, caught a glimpse of gray-suited men on horseback, swords, parting through a crowd – a crowd that even in that glance Elsa could see was angry and unarmed. Then they were past, past thick stone and more soldiers, and the orders now were to shut the gates behind them. A moment later, the carriage came to a jolting stop – and once more, faces appeared at her window.

She recoiled – until she saw the concern in their eyes. And the voices outside: her driver was angry, but the rest were soothing, trying to restore calm. Elsa did the same; deep breaths, her hands splayed and rubbing around her knees. If there had ever been a time for absolute control, it was now.

It was time once more for the mask: Queen Elsa.

"To your posts!" a new voice barked, and the men peering in at her dispersed, replaced by another whose uniform was augmented with sash and epaulets, his face droopy and lined as old parchment but his eyes keen and sharp. "You are Queen Elsa of Arendelle?"

She hid her surprise, gave a curt nod. "I am."

He sank into a deep bow, one knee finding the ground. "General Patersen, of His Royal Highness Prince Knut's household guard, at your service." Head still bent low, he smoothly found the handle on her door, pulled it aside for her to step forth. "Your Majesty."

"Thank you."

She got her first look, then, at the palace grounds – and though she could still hear shouting beyond the walls, clash ongoing, she might have entered another world, a world where such things could be dismissed as stories of a more savage race. Though Leisalla was barely half the size of Arendelle, its flat, fertile land surrounded by kingdoms of mountains and valleys had clearly served its royal family well: the grounds here looked to be three times the size of those in Arendelle, nestled as it was on its little spit of land out in the fjord. Lawns spread around the large stone-and-timber palace, copses of fruit trees and hedges and neat outbuildings so distant she might request a horse to reach them, and the smooth drive leading to the front door of the palace was wide and rounded and clearly designed to accommodate a great number of carriages. Taking it in, and reflecting back on the financial state of Arendelle at the time of her inheritance, Elsa thought she could now understand more clearly her father's desire to make a marriage alliance.

"Allow me to show you to your quarters," General Patersen said. "I will inform His Highness of your arrival. I'm sure he will be pleased that you have made it safely."

"I take it there is unrest in the city?" Elsa asked as he bowed her ahead, towards the palace. Behind them, she could hear the orders and thumps and scrapes as her things were unpacked. After it was done, her driver and his team would return home – her last tenuous connection to Arendelle lost.

But it would be best not to dwell on that.

General Patersen offered an apologetic smile. "Nothing to be concerned about, Your Majesty. I'm sorry it wasn't under control before your arrival."

"What are they so angry about?"

"Nothing of concern. My apologies, Your Majesty."

She took the hint – but there would be other chances to ask, and likely much less circumspect. They had been attacked, soldiers had already been on hand, and no one had seemed particularly surprised, outside or in the palace walls. If she was here, if her getting back to Anna might be affected – she wanted to find out what was going on. She would find out what was going on.

But that could wait until later. The first thing – the most important thing – was to be alone for a little while, to make sure she had control of herself. She felt tense and uneasy, her hands and feet pulsing with magic barely contained. Too much, too quickly, and she needed a quiet, private place to deal with it.

The interior of the palace was hushed and dark, the windows small and ceilings low – a marked contrast to the modern appearance of the city around it. The walls were draped in heavy tapestry, but the stone floors were bare. The whole spoke of ancient lineage and carefully preserved splendor – a place that was beautiful but stern, uninviting.

They passed through dark, narrow hallways, seemingly an endless maze of them, before Patersen finally came to a stop before a heavy wooden door, only distinguishable from a thousand others by its being the last at one end of the corridor. Something Elsa had never considered – finding her way around a very larger, very labyrinthine, and very unfamiliar dwelling. Would anyone think to help her?

Was this a normal concern, or yet another she had brought upon herself by her own long years in hiding?

She didn't know how to ask – and regardless, after bowing her into the room, Patersen did not stay to chat. "I will see that Prince Knut is informed of your arrival," he said, "and the heads of the household staff. They will see to your needs."

"Thank you."

A final bow, and a murmured, "Your Majesty" - and he was gone.

And Elsa was alone. Far from home, shaken, and alone.

How did Anna do this, time and again? Go off on boats, in carriages, on horseback; subject herself to strange places, unfamiliar people; and come home smiling and full of stories? Elsa had hardly made it inside, and she already felt overwhelmed.

She stepped from the doorway, turned to take the measure of her room – or rooms, as they proved to be. She was in a small parlor, windlowless but with a large fireplace and comfortable arrangement of couch and armchairs around it. Two doors opened from it, one on the north wall – a bedroom – and one on the east, a room Elsa realized was not a study, as she had assumed, but a small library, maybe a hundred volumes, and chairs on either side of the narrow window. Unable to resist, she glanced at the shelves – most of the books were religious, treatises and hagiographies, but she also saw several histories, a few books on animal biology, and a handful of novels, though nothing recent. A very curious collection, she thought – and an even more curious place to keep it, in guest quarters. There were two libraries in the castle in Arendelle, but neither was tucked away inside a private room. Elsa found it very strange – but also rather soothing. She knew well how books might provide a welcome distraction.

But for the moment, even attempting to read would be futile. Besides, she needed to keep her attention focused, to be ready for anything – particularly since she had no idea what to expect from this place. So she went to the inner room – the one without windows – and dealt, first, with the almost painful buildup of power, closing her eyes and letting it release as a controlled flow, up instead of out.

Anna had helped her practice. Encouraged, cajoled, soothed, and cheered – until Elsa couldn't help but smile, at the enthusiasm and at memories of the joys of earliest childhood, Anna laughing and clapping. And little by little – with Anna's stubborn, relentless encouragement – it got easier, better. And it did feel good, the release, and kept the pressure from becoming more than she could bear.

Now, she dissipated away the cones of ice, took several deep breaths. There had been more ice than she'd anticipated – she suspected the attempted attack in the city had left her more shaken than she'd realized in the immediate aftermath. Sometimes, concentrating so on control, that happened, true depth of feeling revealing itself only after the fact.

She went to one of the armchairs, sat and stared at the cold, empty fireplace. There was a stack of wood, neat and uniform, but she doubted she would use it unless the lamps proved inadequate.

She wondered if the boy on trial – Bjorn; she must remember his name – had troubles with his powers building up, just as she did. The letter had mentioned he was 12 years old, which would put him on the cusp of becoming an adult. If his powers developed as Elsa's had, they were likely now getting much stronger – and much harder to control. What happened might have been no more than a terrible accident.

But she couldn't assume that. She couldn't allow herself to assume his innocence just because he, too, possessed magic. The most she could do – for the moment – was try to serve as a reminder that learning more control was possible.

If Anna had been here, she could have convinced everyone.

Elsa would just have to do her best. For Anna – who had always believed in her.

She would do it for Anna.

She was still sitting there, lost in thought, when someone rapped on the door – four smart knocks. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?" Already standing, composing herself, even as she said, "You may come in."

The man was high-ranking among the staff, judging by the quality of his uniform and the mirror-reflection shine of his boots. He bowed deeply before her. "Prince Knut requests your presence in his council chambers, Your Majesty."

The man led her through another maze of hallways, to what had to be one of the oldest parts of the palace – timbered ceilings and mortar crumbling from the walls. The rooms were large and drafty, and Elsa shivered at the smell of damp – it reminded her of the dungeons at home, the terror of being a prisoner in the one place she might have once felt safe. She crossed her arms, took shallow breaths.

Prince Knut's council chambers proved a bit better – there were windows, albeit small ones, but enough to dissipate some of the unpleasant memories. There was no blizzard howling at the glass; the sky outside was blue and clear. Elsa allowed herself to relax – just a bit. There was a long table at the center of the room; at least a dozen ornate, high-backed chairs around it – and a single occupant at the head, rising now to greet her.

"Queen Elsa of Arendelle, Your Highness," said the servant who had brought her.

"So I assumed." He gave a shallow, ornate bow, ending with a flourish of his fingers. "Prince Knut, my queen. I am honored that you have joined us."

"It's my pleasure," she said, and hoped it would not prove a lie.

Knut straightened and smiled – smiled as if she had offered him a particularly choice gift. He was not a handsome man, but he exuded confidence – in his carefully-oiled hair, the stylish cut of his silk jacket, his open expression, the prominent heels on his boots; he did not look like a man who denied himself even the smallest pleasures: an inch added to his height, or comfortable cloth around his stout frame.

"I was reluctant to ask you to travel so late in the year," he said. "But I'm pleased that you came." He moved around to pull out a chair for her – acknowledging rank as well as gender. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Gudmund – the 1832 Picardy, would you?"

The servant nodded. "How many are expected, Your Highness?"

"Four – Bea said she'll come if her game is through, go ahead and bring four."

"Yes, Your Highness."

And then Elsa was alone with him – the man who had brought her to this apparently volatile place. The man who her parents had intended her to marry, almost seven years previously.

He sighed and took his own seat once more. "I heard you encountered a bit of trouble on your way in. Are you alright?" He looked genuinely concerned – but there was a lightness in his tone that put Elsa once more on her guard.

"Is there a problem in the city?" she asked.

"Not really a _problem_, per se. People are just… a bit on edge. You know how superstitious commoners can be."

"On edge about the… about the reason your asked me here?"

Knut grimaced, then shrugged. "I suppose you could say that."

"Because the child has magic?"

"Pardons, Your Majesty – there is another coming who will also want the full story, if you don't mind a short delay?"

Clearly, she was being given no choice – but she nodded permission regardless. The silence that followed was rather uncomfortable. Elsa looked to the window on the far wall, watching the sky slowly begin to pinken as the sun set, trying to focus on anything but her creeping trepidation.

"Is there anything you need, while you're here?" Knut finally asked.

Elsa shook her head. "I'm fine for the moment."

"Good, good. Well, if that changes – _Beowulf!_"

He all but shouted, and Elsa jumped, even as he leapt from his seat and crossed the length of the room in long, eager strides. She turned, trying to find the cause of the sudden commotion.

_Beowulf?_

"In the flesh." He was a marked contrast to Knut – tall and lean, reddish hair tousled and only half-tamed, the sleeves of his shirt carelessly pushed up around his elbows and the legs of his trousers fraying at the cuffs. He had a long face, sharp features – and sharp eyes that settled quickly on Elsa, and just as quickly widened with what appeared to be surprised recognition. But he said nothing, just offered a swift smile and turned back to Knut. "Beata's gone to wash up, then she'll be down."

"Good, good." Knut held an arm out, inviting the new guest in: "Queen Elsa, may I introduce an esteemed champion of scholasticism, vanquisher of ignorance, the great warrior Beowulf? Beowulf, the lovely Queen Elsa of Arendelle."

The man rolled his eyes, but bowed to Elsa. "It's nice to finally meet you in person, Your Majesty." He smiled at her again, and shoved back the hair that had flopped into his eyes as he bent. "Beowulf's fine, but most people call me Alarik."

Elsa was by now thoroughly confused. "The pleasure is mine," she said – and again, wondered if this would be proven as truth or lie.

"Did you go see the boy?" Knut asked – and Alarik's attention was drawn away. For that, Elsa was grateful; small talk had never been her strong suit.

"I did," Alarik said. "He wasn't very cooperative."

Knut sighed. "He rarely is. Makes my life even more difficult."

"I'll keep trying. He has to be afraid – and he has no reason to believe he can trust me. Or any of us."

Elsa fisted her hands in her lap, studied the wood grain in the table before her.

"Did he show any signs of it?"

"Not there. When everything's calmed down, I can take him out of the city. I can get more accurate data there, regardless."

"Just be careful. I don't want to have to find another expert."

"I can handle magic."

Elsa glanced at him then – he was looking at Knut, and there was something in his expression, an intensity, that Elsa couldn't quite read. She wanted to ask him – ask why he thought he could handle it.

But her own magic was still barely under control. There would be time later for questions. She kept quiet, and listened as the conversation moved to more mundane matters – the location of the trial, how many would be allowed to witness, the logistics of getting the boy Bjorn in and out. Alarik seemed familiar with Leisalla, but his faint accent marked him as a native of another land – Sweden, perhaps? Elsa wasn't sure, but it gave her something to focus on besides her uncertainty.

The final member of their party arrived juggling a bottle of wine and four glasses. "Ran into Gudmund, told him to bring cakes or something. I'm _famished_. But I won, three sets to two." She was almost as tall as Knut, but painfully thin, all joints and angles within the tailored confines of a suit the color of an aubergine, velvet whispering as she set out of the bottle and glasses. She had shaggy blonde hair beneath an odd flat cap, and skin almost as pale as Elsa's own. "Why the 1832? It's so cliché."

"We have guests. It's polite," Knut said.

"To give them clichés? And since then is your precious Viking warrior a-" Her eyes found Elsa's. "Oh! Hello."

Elsa tried to smile. "Good evening."

"I hope you're appreciative of cliché. Are you Queen Elsa?" She didn't wait for an answer, but held out a hand. "Beata. The purveyor of polite is my brother."

After a brief hesitation, Elsa tentatively took the offered hand – and was rewarded with a smile and a brisk shake from Beata.

Knut laughed. "Finally, you've found someone who doesn't look at you like you're crazy when you do that."

"Kindred spirits." She gave Elsa's hand a gentle – reassuring? - squeeze before releasing it and taking a seat near the door.

"Shall we begin?" Alarik asked.

"When did you get here?" Beata asked in return.

"Last night."

"I'm hurt. I would have come to breakfast, if I'd known."

"I was with Bjorn most of the day."

"The boy's still not cooperating," Knut said.

Elsa gathered her courage – and quietly cleared her throat. Their eyes turned to her; as queen, she gazed back, from one to the next. "You've asked for my help," she said. "And I am certainly willing to give it. But I need a full explanation of what has happened here – and what it is that you expect from me."

For a long moment, there was only silence – then Knut said, "I'm going to need wine for this."

It was Alarik who reached for the bottle, but before he poured, he looked to Elsa. "Do you drink alcohol?" There was gentle concern in his voice.

Elsa was taken aback – it had always been her habit to accept a single glass, as necessary, and to sip sparingly, to avoid being impolite No one had ever asked before. "I… Yes. It's fine."

He nodded, but was frugal in pouring for her. "Many magic users I've spoken to," he said as he poured for the others, "have expressed concerns for the disinhibition that comes from drinking spirits. I hope I wasn't ill-mannered in asking."

"No." He smiled as he passed her the glass. "You've known… others with magic?"

He handed glasses to Knut and Beata, carefully recorked the bottle. "Quite a few. I'm a scholar. I study magic, the physical properties of magic."

Something inside her tensed uncomfortably. "I see." She had known formal studies had been done of magic – of course she had, she had read many of them. But she had never met someone involved in such study, and she found it oddly disconcerting – it reminded her, as if she needed reminding, that she was different. Strange.

It made her think again of Anna.

"I'm here as an expert," Alarik said, "just as you are."

"Which leads nicely to _why_ you're both here," Knut said. He had, Elsa noted, already emptied his glass. He sighed heavily. "What little I can tell you, anyway.

"The boy's about 12, as far as we can tell – no records up there, almost none of them can so much as write their own names. His family was still tied to the land, some old debt, and apparently everyone in the village knew about this boy, but never thought to tell anyone. Then a few months ago, during the harvest season, he lost control – or perhaps he was just mad, didn't get his way or some such nonsense, and now he says he lost control."

Elsa opened her mouth – but Alarik spoke first. "It's always difficult for children with magic to keep control. Even those who have assistance in doing so – a certain level of physical as well as emotional maturity seems to be required."

But Knut waved his hand, dismissive. "That's for the trial. I have no idea. All I know is that six people – five of them the boy's own family – are dead, ten times that injured, and the village is, by all reports, gone. It happened out of nowhere, early one morning, and when people finally made it in, the only one uninjured was this boy – and he tried to run, and he tried to fight them. They had to knock him unconscious to capture him."

Elsa couldn't help shifting, uncomfortable, and she was gripping the fabric of her skirt so hard she feared tearing the fabric. "Was he… alright?"

"He seemed fine today," Alarik said. "Unhappy, but physically fine."

"Has anyone actually… seen him do magic?"

Knut laughed, though there was little humor in it. "From what we've been able to get out of the people from his village – which isn't much – he uses the earth, and needs to be near it. He's in a third-floor room in a house made of stone imported from Greece. Nicest place he'll ever stay, I suspect. And so far, no magic."

Elsa shook her head. "But that's not how it works. I don't need cold for my magic. It doesn't-"

"You need moisture," Alarik said. She turned to him, surprised; he flushed, but carried on. "Apologies, Your Majesty. You draw moisture from the air, freeze it, just as happens naturally in winter. I would hypothesize that this boy Bjorn's magic is likely tied to a particular mineral content, or something similar, in the soil around his home village. Whether he will adjust to the soil here, and his magic once more manifest, remains to be determined."

Elsa just stared at him – uncomfortable, she could think of nothing to say.

"Do you think that will happen?" Beata asked.

Alarik shrugged. "We'll know soon enough. With so little information, at this point, about his magic, I cannot yet venture a reasoned guess as to the likelihood of it."

"Hasn't stopped anyone else," she muttered.

"As Queen Elsa has apparently realized," Knut said. He grabbed the bottle from the center of the table and poured more wine – significantly more than Alarik had poured, Elsa noted. "Her train met with some of our rebellious locals."

"Was everyone alright?" Beata asked – and she leaned towards Elsa across the table, genuine concern in her voice.

"Fine," Elsa said. "Your soldiers arrived quickly."

"They're getting pretty good at sensing it."

"It's about Bjorn?"

"They don't want him here," Knut said. "But half want him freed, half want him hanged, from what I can tell."

"They're afraid of him." Elsa didn't like the flat tone of her voice – but could not hide it.

"People often fear what they don't understand," Alarik said.

Her gaze, turning to him, felt as flat as her voice. "I know."

"But that's why we asked you here," Beata said quickly. "To help everyone understand better."

Elsa thought again of Anna – Anna who thought her magic was wonderful, beautiful. Anna who was dying from what Elsa's magic had done to her.

And Elsa could not say then what she felt, deep as a wound: how could she quell fear in others of something she still feared so herself?


	5. Shards of Life: Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Strange, uncertain days – but Anna would not have traded them for anything in the world. Seasons changed, but she no longer watched them from the windows, or while making circuits around the yards. Holidays were celebrated, festivals were once more officially sanctioned – and if Elsa could not participate more than was necessary for her own peace of mind, Anna was happy to be seen in her place.

She respected Elsa's need for solitude, but still could not fully understand it, where public events were concerned – the people of Arendelle cheered to see her, and even more loudly for their queen. It made Anna's heart swell, her spirits lift higher than the mountains surrounding: she would have given almost anything to know Elsa felt the same way. She _deserved_ to feel the same – she was working so hard, trying to make up for her own perceived guilt and shortcomings, for the failures of the last few years; working impossibly long hours and worrying it was not enough.

Anna worried, too. She worried about Elsa.

She had not known about the powers, but Anna had always been perfectly aware that Elsa was a perfectionist. Now, Anna worried that tendency was threatening to take control – a convenient cover, as gloves had once been. And she desperately did not want that to happen – Elsa deserved so much better.

So Anna tried to help her. She had never been particularly interested in the running of the kingdom – pointedly so, knowing she was not necessary to it, and never would be – but there was no reason why she couldn't start, and besides, there was still all that free time to fill. She went to the staff, asked for books to read, tried to learn about people – the books she perhaps only skimmed, but she was good with names, good with matching them to faces and then homelands. It was like a game.

"Can I go with you?" she asked early one afternoon, as Elsa prepared for a meeting with her advisors.

Elsa paused in the act of pinning her hair and turned to look at her sister, surprised. "Why in the world would you want to suffer through that?"

"I want to know more about what you do."

Elsa's eyebrow quirked. "Are you _that_ desperate for entertainment? Because I have trade reports you can read."

Anna laughed and shook her head. "One day, maybe. I just want to know more about... well... what you do. As queen."

"I won't forbid it, but don't blame me if you wish I had." And Elsa returned to her hair, twisting and securing it atop her head. She turned back and forth, smoothed her bangs.

"You look wonderful," Anna said.

Elsa went very still, hands raised. Then – very slowly – her face creased into a smile. She looked like a child who had successfully recited the alphabet. "Thank you."

Anna sat to her immediate right before the crown's advisors – and even she knew it was a place of honor. She was quiet, doing her best to remain still throughout, watching and learning. The way conversation was held here, the formality of it, the clear conventions. Men she knew only in passing, having seen them at formal events, dinners, leaving her father's study – old, wealthy men who knew their places were as secure as any royal's.

And Elsa.

_Queen_ Elsa.

She was calm and collected and considerate, listening to the others but firm when she felt her own opinion was correct. Her regal posture, even tone, serene expression, almost a mask – she was Elsa as a younger Anna might have envisioned her to be, a portrait of royal poise. They listened to her, these men of her father's time, even her grandfather's; she had earned their attention, perhaps even their respect, quietly and calmly.

"Ready to listen next time I warn you off?" Elsa asked afterward, idly flipping through a sheaf of letters that had been delivered alongside lunch.

"Not much for fun, are they?"

Elsa half-smiled, glanced up for no more than a moment. "Did you expect them to be?"

"Well, no, but... I could try some card tricks next time."

Elsa laughed, and when she looked up, there was a glint of mischief in her eye. "I've heard rumors you know some rather questionable card _games_. It could liven things up."

Anna shrugged and grinned. "The princess likes a good gamble?"

"Scandalous," Elsa murmured around the rim of her teacup.

Anna _had_ learned such games, from the servants and household guards; one more way to stave off long, empty hours. She had never been particularly good, though – she couldn't hide her emotions, on her face or in her body language. A good hand always left her wriggling like an excited puppy. Which brought her back to what she really wanted to say: "Elsa, you were _amazing_ in there."

"What?" She was surprised, and a gentle blush – how could Elsa even _blush_ with poise? - spread across her cheeks.

"You were just so... so... _queenly_." It was a stupid word, she wasn't even sure it was a real word, but it was the most apt one that came to mind. "All those stuffy old men, and you just... just..."

"Did my job?"

"No, _more_ than that. You were so _calm_, Elsa, even when they disagreed with you, or when they were arguing, and you... I just... I was really impressed."

For a long moment, Elsa stared silently, solemnly down at the table. "I have to," she finally said. Her voice was soft.

"What?"

She looked up – and Anna saw the familiar, stubborn hardness in her eyes. "Don't you understand, Anna? What happens if I can't control myself?"

"...Oh."

"I can't let myself slip. At all. Not in there, not with them. They could do it, Anna – what Prince Hans almost convinced them to do. And there are some who would very much like to see that happen."

"Elsa, no, they-"

"_Yes_, Anna." Quiet pain choked her words, and all Anna could do was sit and stare. "If you want to know about it... You can't just pick and choose reality."

"But you can try to change it."

Elsa removed her hands from the table. Where her palms had rested were blooms of frost.

"Not always," she said.

* * *

><p>"She's <em>wrong<em>," Anna said – for at least the third time in an hour.

"_Maybe_," Kristoff replied – also for the third time. He was checking his tools, polishing and honing and squinting for the tiniest imperfection; he was as fastidious as a dirty cat, meticulous about getting everything back exactly as he felt it should be. Anna found it fascinating to watch – and it offered them another sliver of time together.

She understood why his things were so very important to him, why he took such care of them: they had always been necessary for his continued existence. It was a reality she had never fully considered before she met him; nothing in her world, from shoes to furniture, was irreplaceable. Even some of the older things in the castle, purportedly ancient as the kingdom, she knew had been patched and repaired so as to be almost like new. Getting whatever was needed was as simple as asking a servant; penury was a subject she knew only from fairy tales. But for Kristoff, effective tools of his trade were the difference between life and death.

Despite Elsa's paying him well for the position – he insisted to Anna that the pay was very generous – he had retained the habit of obsessively maintaining his things. Anna sat on the edge of the sled as he worked, legs dangling off the side.

"They accepted her as lawful ruler," she insisted.

"Without knowing about the magic."

"Which has nothing to do with whether she can rule!"

Kristoff swiped an arm across his forehead – it was warm, for October. "You know that for sure?"

"Of course I do!"

"She can be dangerous." He held up a hand – still holding his whetstone – before she could protest. "I didn't say she _is_, I said she _can be_. Those men – protecting the welfare of Arendelle is their job."

"I guess."

"And Elsa knows that."

"Maybe." Anna looked back to the castle, to the third floor, to Elsa's bedroom window. "But if they want to get rid of her, they'll have to go through me first."

She understood Kristoff's logic – but she still didn't like it. Elsa was a wonderful queen, she must be, and from here, she would only get better.

Of that much, Anna was sure.

"You like Elsa, don't you?" The question was out before she could stop it.

Kristoff looked up at her from beneath the shaggy fringe of hair across his forehead, eyebrows raised. "Dangerous question."

She raised eyebrows of her own, tilted her head at him. "Is it?"

He half-smiled and shook his head, looking away. "I don't _know_ her, Anna. I know how important she is to you, and I know how generous she was to me, and that will always be there, both of those things. But she's the _queen_. What do I know about queens?"

"She's my _sister_."

"Yeah – and I have enough trouble with the princess."

"_Princess?_" But Anna shook her head, trying to mentally realign herself. "Nevermind, we'll talk about it later." The wind was picking up, pulling at the fabric of her skirt, attuned to the gathering turmoil inside – and she thought of Elsa, for whom emotion truly matched the weather. _I can't let myself slip. At all._ "You don't like her," Anna said softly.

Kristoff sighed. "Anna, I _really_ _don't know her_."

"Does _anybody_ like her?" The reality of it settled like a stone in her chest. "Besides me? Does anyone like... not the queen, they have to like the queen. Does anybody like _Elsa?_" She had been so selfish, so excited these past months, eager to escape the castle confines, get to know people, make friends.

But what about Elsa?

"Anna." Kristoff's voice concerned, but there was a sure authority in it. When she looked at him, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he put the whetstone down, leaned over to take her hand. "She has _you_."

But it wasn't enough. And Anna realized she'd been going about it all wrong – Elsa knew exactly how to be the queen. It was to be herself that she needed Anna's help.

But she could do it. Or if she couldn't – she would give it everything she had, and hope it would be enough, at least for a start. The question then became: _how?_

This was not something she could learn by watching Elsa, or thinking of her father's rule, or even by reading books. She watched people when she could, but everything in the castle she was privy to seemed to revolve around business – she was perfectly aware that the servants gossiped and teased, but they didn't do it around her.

So she tried the city, and found a bit more success there: listening to acquaintances greeting one another, their public conversations, their physical interactions – young women walking arm-in-arm among the shops; men doffing hats, shaking hands. She looked for people who seemed shy, reserved; tried to see how others responded to them. October gave way to November, and Anna sat close to fireplaces and scribbled copious notes.

But Elsa was not all that occupied her time – with winter came the end of the year's business in ice, and so back to civilization came Kristoff. He claimed to have decided to seek work in the city. He stayed longer hours in the castle, and Anna still felt the familiar warm swoop in her stomach when they were alone, when he drew her close and his lips pressed feverishly to hers and their hands explored as deeply as their many layers of clothing would allow.

What were they together? She didn't know. But he made her feel like no one else ever had. And when he was there, the world didn't seem quite so lonely.

She knew, at some point, they would have to talk about it – whatever was going on between them. She might have few assigned roles compared to Elsa, few royal obligations, but that did not negate her nonetheless _being_ royal. It was a pair of watchful eyes in the corner of every dalliance with Kristoff – watchful eyes and a self-satisfied smile. _You will never escape me, Princess Anna_. She could give it glares in her head, but it never took the hint.

It was all very strange – once, she had longed for anything but the endless repetition of days inside the castle. Now, though the open gates were wonderful – of course they were – the world seemed too wide, the days too unstructured, and she too unmoored. It was hard to keep her mind on anything, to finish projects started – even to focus long enough to discuss the future with Kristoff, or figure out how to make people like Elsa.

She'd thought everything would just make sense once the gates were open. But it didn't.

And that frightened her.

* * *

><p>"Gerda?"<p>

"Yes, Princess Anna?"

"How did you decide to come work here?"

Anna was stretched out on her stomach on her bed, watching Gerda gather clothes for washing – there were servants who saw to the cleaning and laundering of curtains and bedding and seatcovers as well as clothing, but Gerda took care of collecting and returning things from Anna and Elsa's rooms, just as she always had; just as she saw to warming pans in their beds (well – in Anna's), the cleaning of their floors and windows, all the things that her seniority among the staff should have led her to pass off to others years before. Besides Elsa, she was the closest thing Anna had to family.

Now, she paused in her gathering, turning to smile at Anna around the pile of wrinkled dresses and mud-spattered skirts in her arms. "I've always been here, Your Highness. As long as I can recall, anyway. My mother was a lady's maid to Queen Johanna."

"Did you ever want to do anything else? Or... did you wonder if there might be something else you were _supposed_ to do?"

Gerda cocked her head and smiled. "Oh, sweet girl – there was no time for that. Besides, working here is good. Queen Johanna was good to me, your parents too, and now yourself and Queen Elsa."

Anna sighed and rolled to her back, staring up at the canopy. "I can't figure it out," she said. "What I'm supposed to _do_. Everyone seems to know but me."

Gerda bent once more to her work. "You were always adventurous, Your Highness. I'm sure you'll one day find something to your liking."

But liking wasn't the problem – Anna liked lots of things: the way Elsa could look comically happy or exasperated when engrossed in reading reports and correspondence. Kristoff's stammering attempts at pleasantries, and how he treated his sled like a member of his family. The way the city smelled near mealtimes, crowds in the market square, the streets after it rained, the earth changing as much as the trees with the seasons. She liked almost everything she saw.

But none of it was enough. Or maybe it was too much. She didn't know.

Sometimes, it seemed she didn't know anything at all.

Snow began to fall. Fireplaces and warm cloaks, frost on the windows; Anna threw snowballs with children in the city, laughing and learning to duck behind barrels and around corners. She returned home damp and shivering and red-faced, dreaming of hot water being drawn and maybe mulled wine before the fire – but stopped short just inside the gates at the sight of something familiar parked near the stables.

She turned to the nearest guard, hunched within his winter uniform. "Kristoff's here?"

"He arrived mid-afternoon, Your Highness."

"He didn't tell me he was coming!" And without waiting for a reply, she hitched her sodden skirts and ran for the castle.

But he wasn't anywhere to be found – not in the parlor, the downstairs library, the study, the dining room. She even checked the courtyards – but the only footprints in the snow were her own. She wondered briefly if he might have gone into the city, but surely the guard would have told her?

It was very strange – but she was cold and tired, and her feelings were more than a little hurt, and she wasn't sure she wanted to see him anymore, anyway, not the way she was feeling right now. She suspected she might say something she would have to apologize for later. So she gave up her search, trudged up the stairs, down the hallway towards her room. She would change, clean up, make Elsa stop working long enough o have dinner – and tell her about the snowball fight. Actually, that might be a way to help her get more comfortable around people – the children today had wanted to know all about Elsa; they were fascinated, not afraid. Maybe-

Anna was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of voices – voices she knew well, though rarely speaking to one another, and certainly never without Anna herself present and cajoling. The voices were coming from the smaller upstairs library, the one where Anna had had her lessons as a child. She went closer to the door, left just ajar. It sounded like a lesson was taking place again.

"No – remember, it becomes a longer sound with the umlaut."

"It's impossible. I can't see that _and_ everything else."

"You can if you take it one piece at a time. Don't worry about the whole yet. Focus on the _sounds_."

"Look, Your Majesty-"

"_Elsa._"

"-I know you're busy, and I really appreciate you trying to help, but I can just find something in the city, there's always work, and-"

Anna knocked – she couldn't help herself – and stuck her head around the door. "What's going on?"

She didn't think she'd ever seen Kristoff turn so quickly red-faced and wide-eyed. Elsa's expression was more passive, her eyebrows lifting slightly as her lips quirked into a smile. They had a book open before them on the table, some paper – even from across the room, she recognized Elsa's neat script – and pens, a bottle of the thin ink Anna remembered using to learn to write. Her tutor claimed it lessened splotching; Anna had not found this to be the case.

"We were just going over some work details," Elsa said evenly.

"What work?"

"I have some old trade documents that need to be organized and stored. I thought perhaps Kristoff would like to help."

"Here? He's – you're going to work here?"

"That's the idea," Elsa said.

Kristoff was still flushed and silent – unusually so, Anna thought, even for him – now staring down at the books and papers before them. As she watched, he took a deep breath, pushed his chair back from the table, and stood. "I should get going," he said – apparently speaking to the floorboards.

He was already trying to walk around her when Anna found her voice again: "Can you at least stay for dinner?"

But he shook his head, already out into the corridor. "I have a lot to do."

"After dark?"

But he didn't respond, and a moment later, he disappeared around the corner. Anna could hear his boots sending echoes up from the stairs. For the second time in the space of a quarter hour, she felt a flare of irritation.

"Sometimes," Elsa said quietly, and Anna turned back to her. She was calmly gathering up the things on the table – closing books, rolling neat little tubes of paper, stacking, always so meticulous. But she paused to look up at Anna: "People need their privacy. Everyone has things they don't wish to share with the world."

"I'm not the world."

Elsa smiled at that – and Anna felt a strange swell of nostalgia, as if such a kindly-indulgent expression might lurk in her earliest, fuzziest memories.

"No," Elsa said, "you're not the world. You are a very unusual soul."

"Thanks. I think." It made Elsa laugh, which was good. "But nevermind – did I do something wrong? To Kristoff?"

"Not anything he told me about."

"Then why...?" Anna turned back toward the corridor, but even the echoing footsteps were long gone.

"I think he'll tell you eventually," Elsa said.

Anna sighed. "I hate secrets." She left the doorway and crossed the room, picking up one of the books stacked on the table and flipping through it. Elsa said nothing, but Anna knew she was watching.

Anna glanced idly at the pages – then froze, finally taking in the exaggerated drawings; the short, very repetitive sentences. She looked back to the cover.

_A Primer of Alphabetical Rules_.

The one that had been below it was a storybook for children. The papers – yes, Elsa's neat script, but also large, clunky, blotched attempts at letters.

Anna turned wide eyes to Elsa. "You're teaching him to read and write."

Elsa adjusted the stack of paper, tapping her fingers along an uneven edge. "It's necessary for the position I'm offering him."

"But... why wouldn't he tell me that? That's wonderful!"

"He's embarrassed, Anna."

"But why? I can't harvest ice, so what?"

"It's not..." Elsa paused, bit her lip, considering. "You can't harvest ice because you don't _need_ to harvest ice."

Anna looked once more to the book in her hands. "But he needs to read for the job you're offering. And he never had a chance to learn." Her eyes found Elsa's: "Do you think he can?"

Elsa smiled. "I think he's the only person I've met who is as pigheaded-determined as you are. He wants this job. He wants to be around... well, I think you can figure that one out for yourself. If he needs to learn to read and write to get it, I suspect he will."

Anna smiled back at her. She understood. And the understanding was as warm as summer.


End file.
